Shiver
by Necia Aphrodite
Summary: Hermione finds herself lost in a nightmare situation of being taken prisoner by a Death Eater she knows all too well. PG-13, especially later, for some adult content and language.


**Shiver**

_You chew me up_

_And spit me out_

_Enjoy the taste_

_I leave in your mouth_

_You look at me_

_I look at you_

_Neither of us know what to do_

_There may not_

_Be another way to your heart_

_So I guess I'd better find a new way in_

_I shiver when I hear your name_

_Think about you but it's not the same_

_I won't be satisfied 'til I'm under your skin._

The first thing that registered in Hermione Granger's mind as she awoke was pain. It hurt to open her eyes to register her surroundings, and her eyelids felt heavy. She lifted a hand to them, feeling dried blood caked on them, and the memories of last night came rushing back in a flood that left her hurting physically even more so than she had already been. Her throat felt as though it were made of cotton. As she struggled to sit up from the cold stone floor she found herself on, what felt like fire spread down her entire left arm, and her head throbbed with an indescribable ache that made her think she could endure the Cruciatus Curse ten times over than this. This - the state of not knowing where she was, what had been done to her while she was unconscious, whether or not she was going to die. Dying would probably be better than aforementioned 'this.'

Somewhere, very faintly, she heard a door open and wondered if it was in her imagination, but as she opened her eyes a second time. Not exactly the most comforting image met her bleary gaze in a blur of white-blonde hair and steely eyes that peered at her with slight amusement. As he drew near, she felt her blood pounding in her ears, her palms growing sweaty. He wasn't the ferret-like, skinny little boy he'd been most of their years at Hogwarts, and with all the training in the Dark Arts he'd undoubtedly had since his seventeenth birthday, he was muscular without being overwhelming, tall, and his eyes hardened by being who he was. Something radiated off of him that made him intimidating, and Hermione felt powerless. She could do magic without her wand, but she had neither the physical nor the mental energy to want to do any.

"Come on, Granger," he grabbed her right arm and pulled her to her feet, which would have given out beneath her if he didn't have an iron grip on her, holding her up. He lead her down a corridor that might as well have been a mile long, and they finally came out into the foyer of a large mansion. _The Malfoy manor._ It had a dark, Gothic quality to it, as Hermione'd always pictured it to, the windows draped in black or very dark green silk, the furniture made of dark rosewood, the floors of some kind of dark ebon wood and polished to perfection. Oriental rugs were entwined with dark reds and blacks, and there were portraits of members of the Malfoy family line placed along the walls. A portrait to the right of Hermione bore the image of Salazar Slytherin. She'd already felt sick to her stomach, but now she felt even more so.

"Come _on_, up the stairs," he continued to pull her along as she stumbled up the large sweeping staircase to the left of the foyer. It seemed like an eternity until she was on the second floor. She moaned as she saw another staircase, but he ignored her. "There's a bathroom there. Take a bath and don't even consider drowning yourself, there would be no point," she very nearly rolled her eyes. "When you get out, go to the room at the end of the hallway there." He let go of her, and started back down the stairs. She somehow made it into the bathroom, which was immense (had she really expected it not to be?). Towels were neatly stacked on top of the marble counter, and as she sank into the warmth of the water a few moments later, she wondered why Draco had trusted her not to drown herself. It would be so easy, really, but he was right - there was no point. The Light side needed her, as did the Dark - they wanted information that only she and a select few others knew. And she was valuable to Harry Potter.

Ironically, those were the same reasons the Light side needed her too.

The soap Hermione used smelled of cinnamon, and she took extra care around her wounds. When she got out, she searched for supplies like bandages and gauze to cover said wounds. She stared in the large mirror set in the wall connecting to the counter, and saw that besides the large gash on her left shoulder going down to her elbow, she also had a long, thin red slash across her left cheek, which she knew would heal over without a scar, and a few other small cuts and bruises. Her hair fell in a dripping, tangled mess to her elbows, but at least the blood was gone from it now. Dark circles were present under her eyes and her skin was pallid, her lower lip cracked and bleeding. She looked like hell, and she felt like it. What had she gotten herself into? More importantly, how long would she be held captive here?

After dressing her wounds, she pulled out a pair of scissors she'd found in one of the drawers of the counter, and started to cut her hair, knowing it was well past hopeless to get out the tangles and matted, dried blood from the ends of it at the length it was now. She threw away the long locks, washing only her hair until the rest of the dried blood came free. The haircut wasn't half bad, she decided, and the shoulder-length curls made her look not quite as horrible, though she wasn't exactly the incarnation of Aphrodite either. She wrapped her body modestly in a large towel, grabbed her dirt- and blood-caked clothes before making her way out of the bathroom, heading for the room Draco'd said for her too. When she entered, she found herself in a large bedroom. He was sitting in a desk chair.

"Now, what's all this for?" he stood and reached out, touching her hair. She reeled back. "Trying to impress me, aren't you? Well, I hate to break it to you, but it doesn't look like it's going to get you off the hook."

"Sod off, you arrogant bastard of a prick Death Eater," she spat, trying to come up with something very biting in that time frame. "Though, I guess it's all the same thing, isn't it?"

"Oh, what's this? Granger still got her wits about her? We'll see how long that lasts. Look, you'll be staying in here," he waved a hand around, gesturing to the room. "You're not allowed to go up to the third floor, that's where my study is, so if you need anything during the day you'll just have to wait until either lunch or dinner time, because from breakfast on you won't be seeing me. You can use the library down the hall there, since you live there and all, but don't expect me to make your stay a piece of cake. I'm supposed to keep you healthy - well, at least alive enough to give answers to the Dark Lord when he decides he wants to see you, but I'm not running a bed and breakfast for you, either."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't be coming in contact with you willingly," she said with a smirk.

"Breakfast is at 9:30, lunch at 1:00, and dinner at 5:30. I expect you to be at all three. About your clothes -" he snatched the jeans, button-down shirt, and robes from her arms, and threw them in the wastebasket in the corner of the room. "You'll be using these," he opened an ornately decorated armoire, full of silks of all color, black pants and some probably very expensive sweaters, as well as evening gowns that she was sure she'd never wear. "If they don't fit, you know the charms. Oh, that reminds me," he shut the armoire, "don't try Disapparating or using the Floo network - there's an Anti-Disapparation Jinx on our property, and we're not connected to the latter. So, if that's all I've needed to cover, I'm going to my study. You can get something to eat now, if you wish, dinner is in three hours." He left, slamming the door behind him, and she dropped onto the bed, waiting until he was gone to show her exhaustion. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Hermione changed into one of the nightdresses in the armoire, an apple-green silk one with whisper-thin straps and a V-neckline bordered in black lace. It fit nearly perfectly, and she wondered briefly if the clothes had belonged to Narcissa Malfoy before her untimely death six years ago, or somebody else in the family. As Hermione sank onto the bed a second time, she felt sleep starting to claim her, and she slid between the Slytherin-green sheets of the bed. Tears spilled out from her eyes as she closed them, sinking into a sleep full of dreams and memories.

_"Hermione, get out of here! I'll handle it!" Harry yelled, his voice rising over the roar of the flames._

_"No, you can't! We're surrounded, can't you tell? Go help Ron, get him to St. Mungo's, and I'll hold off as many as I can." She yelled back, her voice growing hoarse in the smoke-filled air. As she felt the black waves of unconsciousness taking her, she was halfway aware of strong arms catching her and a deep voice in her ear..._

Hermione woke sometime in the night, and judging by the position of the moon in the sky, she figured out as she sat up and peered out the window, it was near or a little past midnight. She didn't feel like breaking out into song and dance, but the eight or so hours of sleep she'd gotten seemed to help somewhat. She started as a pain in her stomach intensified and she realized how hungry she was. She pushed back the covers and tentatively stood, testing her feet and legs. She wobbled a bit, but her balance seemed quickly regained and she made her way over to the armoire to look for a bathrobe. She was disappointed to not find one. It was chilly in the ancient manor, and she cast an _Incendio_ spell on the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed before she left to make her way to the kitchen. She froze in the doorway.

Draco sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a mug full of a steaming liquid she guessed was tea. She tried to ignore him as she made her way to the cupboards, opening each one to see what food they had. A long cabinet was set with a Cooling Charm, serving as a refrigerator in a non-Muggle household. Hermione pulled out three eggs, cracking and scrambling them into a bowl before cooking them up. And his eyes never left her. She could feel his silver gaze boring into the back of her head, probably lower as well, and she felt slightly sick. It wasn't exactly her cup of tea to have a Death Eater staring her down, and though she was sure he hadn't raped her, she wouldn't put it past him. The phrase "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" never really meant anything to her until now. Now, she had no choice.

"I figured you'd be up about this time," he finally spoke as she dished the scrambled eggs onto a plate.

"I'm sure you did," she took a seat the end of the table opposite him. Fortunately the table was long, extending the length of the kitchen, so she could be as far away from him as possible. "So, how long am I supposed to stay here?"

"I told you, for as long as it takes until the Dark Lord wants to speak with you."

"And why couldn't he speak to me when I woke up? Is he really that busy killing other people that he can't talk to me?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"Spare me the melodramatics, Granger," he drawled, drinking more of his tea.

"So why are _you_ up this late?" He sighed.

"Personally, I don't see why it matters. It doesn't change the fact of why you're here, and that you're being held prisoner." She clenched her teeth, wanting very much to throw her fork at him, hoping it would land in his neck, cutting right into the jugular. _Calm down, Hermione, he's doing this purposely. If you let him get to you, he'll really be happy. Well, as happy as Malfoys _can _be._ "What's wrong? Hate to be wrong for the first time in your life? I just hate that you're so damn important, otherwise I could have my way with you and be done with it all. Too bad you're a Mudblood." Her throat felt thick with tears. _I will _not_ give in, no matter what he says._ She didn't reply verbally, instead just continuing to eat the eggs, hating the way they felt like rubber between her teeth instead. After a few more torturous minutes he finally rose from his seat.

"See you at 9:30." _Not if I can help it,_ she thought bitterly before getting to her feet and opening a window to toss the remainder of the eggs out for birds. For a moment she contemplated going out through the window as well - she wouldn't hurt herself, being as it was the first floor - but then she came to her senses. _This house is surrounded by a forest, and the property is huge - they're not aristocratic purebloods for nothing. You'll die trying to get away. Or found by him._ Hopelessness and more tears began to well up inside of her, and she suddenly was met with a terrible self-hatred. She knew in the back of her mind that this was just a defense mechanism for the frustration of being captured and held in this hellhole, but she couldn't help it as she slid to sit on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest and back against the wall as she hiccupped with tears.

Hades possibly couldn't be this horrible.

**A/N: Please tell me what you thought of this first chapter. Even if you didn't like it, I appreciate your feedback - just no flames. The title of this story also happens to be that of a Maroon 5 song, the one used in the beginning of this chapter and in no way belongs to moi.**


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